


(g.ne aw/y)

by devilishMendicant



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Gen, Third Person POV, Touhou Puppet Dance Performance, child main character, mute main character, shit let's be pokemon trainers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilishMendicant/pseuds/devilishMendicant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- A place things go when they are forgotten. -<br/>- A world where things that cannot be continue to exist. -<br/>- My... your face betrays your interest. -<br/>- Hehehe. -<br/>- I have some interest in you, as well. -</p><p>[TPDP-verse fic, pre-Shard of Dreams.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She hates it.

 

Hates standing here, in the open, doesn’t look right. Doesn’t belong.

 

Hates it.

 

Bile churns sick in an empty stomach, bubbling, pain. Nobody looks but everyone is, everyone is and she knows and she can tell and she _hates it._

 

Doesn’t leave.

 

She needs to leave, she feels, she knows, needs to walk back down the steps and keep walking until she finds another bus, then another, and another, then a boat, then a plane. Nowhere is far away enough. Nowhere is far away enough. Another country is too close. Another planet is too close. Another galaxy is too close.

 

The fading dewdrop edges of a sweet violet dream, dozing off on a warm bus (barely slept in days), draw her here and hold her gently - firmly - tell her to _look._

 

Something is here.

 

_Look._

 

And you will find it.

 

So she looks.

 

Fights down sick, frightened acid in her belly, looks. Fingers a name-card on a lanyard (address, family name, aggressively scratched out with a chewed-down fingernail, tiny streaks of blood soaked into card-stock paper) with one hand, uses the other to wave, strike up a one-sided conversation.

 

Nobody questions the silent ten-year-old girl wandering the grounds in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday. They have all come here to chase dreams and make merry. She is not their child. It is not their place to care.

 

_Spirited away._

 

_Disappear._

 

Sweet music to her ears.

 

Look harder.

 

The girls looking around behind the shrine (closer to her age, not adults lost to fantasy but high-school children) look at her kindly, include her in their conversation. They don’t look like they fit in either, and the child is grateful for it.

 

One has a sweet voice, ethereal, light and lilac, and smiles sheepishly, shaking her head with a half shrug. Says she could see the barrier last time she was here, tone sounds as though asking _Now, how could I misplace something like that?_ It’s funny, in a subtle way, and the child laughs instinctively.

 

A thin, broken hiccup worms its way from her throat, and both older girls (concerned) look (questioning) at her (neck).

 

She hurries away.

 

She learned long ago that the secret to leaving was to look as assured as possible and so she brushes right by the man at the fence, staring straight ahead don’t turn don’t look go down the path don’t stop walking but don’t run, people become curious when you run.

 

Only breathes again when she reaches the forest.

 

 _Still not far enough_ , she thinks absentmindedly, but lets herself take long, deep breaths of the warm summer air, lets the buzz of cicadas settle comfortably into her ears, lets her eyes fall shut for one blissful, quiet, calm moment.

 

And then something rustles the grass in front of her.

 

Her eyes blink open, and there, on the ground, is a doll, sitting quite still. Soft, plush, lifeless - a child’s toy, blonde, dressed-up, very cute.

 

A lost child’s toy, and here stands before it a lost child.

 

_The next bus ride would be much less lonely…_

 

She takes a tentative step forward.

 

Then two.

 

Three, four, five, and crouches, reaches out a hand.

 

The little doll stands up, gives her a wide, sunny smile.

 

She blinks.

 

It runs.

 

She stares at the retreating form, the plush doll crashing through the taller grass without an earthly care, and she stumbles to her feet, begins to run after it.

 

Not far enough away.

 

Children lost in backyard forests are always found, returned to scratched-out addresses, no protest great enough to halt the process.

 

But she’s forgotten, absorbed in the _what?_ and the _how?_ and the _don’t you dare run away,_ and she’s run clear through the woods and down a slope to a quiet riverbank and there it is, twirling in place, alive despite all that says otherwise.

 

And the girl scowls, huffs, _what was that all about?_ and walks forward, wants now more than ever to collect the soft toy to her chest and continue on her way away, far away.

 

One step, two steps.

 

Three, four, five.

 

Crouches down.

 

Reaches out a hand.

 

The little doll takes her hand in both of its small, soft ones, feels stitched seams, warm.

 

And flashes the child a winning smile.

 

* * *

 

something flashes hot bright white blinding

 

can’t see hears something voice loud but not outside inside and loud not too loud

 

and weightlessness for a moment something hot no warm something warm pooling in her chest dripping dribbling down her insides falls drops feels normal feels _right_ like it’s been here all along and she’s simply never noticed feels liquid warmth and something silk a looseness detached wants to dip her hands inside and thread it through her fingers and stay like that forever.

 

W̴̵̕é̷̕͜ĺ̶̢͘҉c̴̨ò̷̷̡̢m̴̸é̶̀͘͡.̷̨̨

 

feels lovely.

 

C̶͘͜͠h҉̢̛͏i҉̛̛l̶͜͜d͠͡.̵̷̨̡̨

 

word echoes unsure of meaning unsure of anything but the heat running through her veins and swirling soft around her.

 

I҉̵̡͘ ̶͢b҉̵̸̨ȩ̡l̵̢̡̛҉íe͏͏v͏̛́̀͞e̢̨̕͠ ̡y̶̴o̴ú̸'̛́͠ĺ҉̕͝͠ļ͝ ̶̢͠͝ļ͢͟i̵͢͏̢̕k̛͝e̡͘͡ ̴̡i̷̢҉t̸͘ ̧h̴̸͜e͏̶͢r̷̸͘͘e̡̡͟.̛́͜͜͡

 

and then just as suddenly as it began it en

 

* * *

 

She blinks, gasps, and sees the river, hears cicadas, feels the summer sun on her face.

 

Slowly, questioningly, she reaches a hand up to touch her cheek. Pinches lightly - ah, ouch, no, still awake. Looks around, turns in a full circle, slow, careful.

 

Nothing out of place.

 

No sign of the doll.

 

She pauses at this, thinks about what it might have been. What might have happened, had she been faster.

 

_The next bus ride would have been less lonely._

 

The child sighs, a forced noise through set teeth, ignores the silent aching in her chest and wipes a hand quickly, harshly, across fast-dampening eyes. Gathers resolve. Tries to stop wondering.

 

_Never, ever, far enough away._

 

Hikes her bag further up her shoulder and walks, purposefully, back up the slope, mouth set, hands clenched white around the strap.

 

Hears a rustle in the grass.

 

She knows it can be nothing else but a bird or a rabbit, small wild animal foraging for food, but the moving smiling toy is still fresh in her mind so she stops in her tracks, holds her breath, feels a spark of hope jumping against the inside of her ribs.

 

A small head pops out of the grass.

 

A rabbit.

 

Not a rabbit.

 

Standing on two legs, dressed sharply in a soft, childish rendition of a sports coat and pink skirt, pushing the grass in front of it apart with two delicately stitched hands.

 

Rabbit ears.

 

But not a rabbit.

 

It looks her up and down with an odd expression, head tipped just slightly to the side, one ear flopped over, bright red eyes puzzled. Wondering.

 

The child, though she hardly notices, has mirrored the emotion near-perfectly.

 

A still, tense silence hangs in the air for a moment.

 

**_“OI!”_ **

 

But only for a moment.


	2. Chapter 2

The child quickly turns, startled by the sudden shout, searching for whatever made it, and finds…

 

A blonde woman running up the path from the river, out of breath, waving her hand, dressed in an  _ entirely  _ ridiculous  _ Halloween costume.  _ A witch.

 

She almost laughs again.

 

A  _ witch.  _

 

The  _ witch  _ comes skidding to a halt next to her, cheeks lightly flushed from exertion, eyes wide in disbelief. 

 

“What’re you _ doin’ _ just-- just  _ spacin’ out?!”  _ The witch shouts, causing the child to flinch back from the sheer volume. “After a  _ Puppet’s  _ popped out?! Are you  _ tryin’  _ to get--”

 

It takes a second for the witch to fully register the child’s position - head ducked, shying away, hands cupped over ears, grimacing - and she comes to an abrupt halt, clears her throat.

 

“Er, sorry f’r shoutin’,” she coughs, taps the girl’s shoulder lightly. “Hey.  _ Hey,  _ kid!”

 

The girl looks up, face tinged red. The woman gives her a lopsided grin, puts her hand behind her head.  _ Jeez, quiet, huh. Oh well. _

 

“Look, kid, don’t you know  _ anythin’ _ about Puppets?” She asks, tilting her head to try and get a good look at the child’s face. “Or… oh, I guess y’ might be from outside. Yeah,” Straightens up a bit, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

 

The woman dressed like some sort of Halloween enthusiast makes a face of serious thought for a moment, then nods, assured, certain. 

 

_ Perfect sense.  _

 

“Well, then, listen up.” She says, points boldly (rudely) at the little rabbit doll, which, at this point, looks quite bored with the whole ordeal. “That, right there? That’s a Puppet.” 

 

The child’s gaze follows the gesture, and after a slight hesitation, nods.

 

“Yeah, y’ get it,” a grin cracks across the witch’s face, somewhat embarrassed, gives a half-derisive laugh. “Uh, well, they kinda jus’... showed up one day an’ started raisin’ hell. Runnin’ around, doin’ whatever they damn well please.”

 

“They, uh, they jump out n’ attack people from the taller grasses. Hide in there n’ whatnot. They’re pretty short.” A shrug. “If y’ have Puppets of your own, y’ can go up against them, push back a little, yanno? But, heh, I guess there’s really no way y’ would, wouldja...”

 

A thoughtful hum, tap of the chin, and both child and toy - Puppet? - are exchanging equally incredulous glances. 

 

_ Maybe I’m so tired, I didn’t even wake up when I pinched myself. _

 

“So here’s what we’ll do!” The witch bursts out, usual boisterous voice, girl jumps, startled, again - and this time the doll does too, less from surprise, more from frustration. Exits the grass, eyes blazing, tiny chest puffed out, purposeful. 

 

_ Ready. _

 

The girl  _ knows  _ that expression. 

 

Takes a step back, instinctive.

 

The witch hmphs (at the doll) and the girl averts her eyes, reddens, quails.  _ Coward.  _

 

“Well, whatever,” the blonde shakes her head and suddenly pushes something hard, heavy, warm into the child’s hand, something light-orange, crystalline. “Wise woman once said, doin’s way better than lecturin’! I’ll loan ya one ‘a mine so you can get some first-hand experience.” Makes a motion with her head in the rabbit’s direction. “Jus’ toss that over ‘n that direction there, an’ you’ll pro’lly get the hang of it.”

 

_ Perfect sense. _

 

The girl swallows, nods, steps pulls back underhand lob all at once and--

 

A flash of light--

 

A chiming sound--

 

And a little witch doll stepped out onto the field, a confident grin on its face, thrusting a  _ oh my god  _ tiny broomstick forward in challenge.

 

_ The Halloween enthusiast owns a doll that looks  _ **_exactly like her._ **

 

The child can’t stop the laugh anymore, claps a hand across her mouth but can’t quite muffle the strained, hissing giggle that escapes her at the sheer, utter  _ absurdity  _ of the situation before her.

 

A second laugh - deeper (warmer) louder - comes from behind her, and she stops, freezes.

 

The other trails off.

 

She shakes her head, looks from the doll to the other doll and wonders  _ just what on Earth she’s supposed to do.  _ Will it do as it pleases, or will she have to-- 

 

Command it?

 

_ Oh,  _ she notices the tiny witch glancing back at her, confused, waiting,  _ oh no. _

 

“Hey, kid,” voice sounds concerned, “Are y’ oka--”

 

She thrusts her hand forward with a forced conviction, looks pleadingly to the tiny witch, and its eyes widen briefly before nodding, small, then leaps forward and shoots.

 

The child is not entirely sure what she was expecting, but in all honesty, tiny red bullets weren’t all that more strange than anything else that had happened today.

 

_ … huh.  _ The blonde woman behind the lost child furrows her brow, carefully watches the motion, action, the strange impromptu battle, bullets flying in a flurry across the field. 

 

_ … something’s up. _

 

The battle isn’t quite yet  _ over  _ when the witch puts her hand on the girl’s shoulder, pulls her gently (firmly) back a few steps. She gets the message, and makes a quick motion to the witch-doll, who retreats as well with a dissatisfied expression.

 

“Mm, that lil’ thing’s tough, huh? Guess y’ can’t beat it.” Sees the girl scowl momentarily -  _ what do you mean? We were doing fine!  _ \- before lowering her eyes, abashed, scuffles feet. 

 

“... no,” The blonde woman says after a moment, puts hands on hips. “Somethin’s weird.” The child quickly glances up, shoulders tensing, and so the woman holds her tongue, looks over at the rabbit doll with the intense expression instead.

 

“It’s plottin’ somethin’.”  __

 

_ Really?  _

 

The child steals a suspicious look at the little rabbit, which gazes back with that odd intensity.

 

And then.

 

Almost too quick to react to, it bounds across the empty field and grabs holds latches onto the girl’s leg.

 

She freezes.

 

The witch gapes.

 

And something tangled warm inside the child’s chest comes loose.

 

* * *

 

 

it is very quick very warm and very bright very bright and very  _ red  _ and it drips and runs and settles softly nicely  _ rightly  _ into the chest of the little rabbit doll ties itself around and around and around and makes a perfect looping knot right where it is needed most and 

 

suddenly 

 

neither feels so very much alone.

 

* * *

 

It happens so quick, in fact, that it would seem nobody but the child and (her) doll were privy to what had just occurred.

 

“Oi, kid.” The witch looks some strange mixture between cross and confused, but the girl is a bit too busy fussing over (her) little rabbit doll to properly notice. “Did it really get attached to you already?”

 

Taking the utter lack of response as a resounding yes, she sighed, continued. “That’s awful strange. Never heard of a normal Puppet not needin’ a Seal Thread…” 

 

Watches the silent little girl moon over the tiny Puppet that had been stray not two minutes before, sees the rabbit doll chirp and cuddle, looking pleased as punch.

 

“Is it the Puppet that’s special…” the witch mutters, “Or is it  _ you?”  _

 

_ That _ gets the child to look up.

 

“... ahn.” The witch shakes her head, casually hooks a thumb through the pocket of her vest. “Yeah, I dunno.” Shrugs, smiles. “Don’t do me any good burnin’ myself out thinkin’ about things I dunno, huh?”

 

The child remains silent, staring.

 

The woman’s smile wavers a bit, and she turns towards the forest.

 

“Well, uh,” she says, “For now, follow me to th’ Hakurei Shrine. I got a lotta things to teach ya, kiddo.”  _ Like how to carry on a conversation, for instance.  _

 

She takes a few steps forward, glances behind her, good, the child’s coming along, if… slowly. The witch slows her gait somewhat, lets herself fall into step beside the girl, and again smiles.

 

The child ducks her head, holds the rabbit-doll in her arms a little tighter.

 

“... so, y’ got a name, kiddo?” 

 

Silence.

 

_ “My  _ name’s Marisa,” she continues, determined yet to make friendly conversation. “Marisa Kirisame. ‘m a magician,” Traces the brim of her wide, black hat. “As you prob’ly could have guessed.”

 

Nothing.

 

For a moment.

 

But then, a light tug at her skirt.

 

Marisa looks down to see the child, eyes uncertain, holding something out to her, something small, thin and rectangular.

 

“Eh?” Reaches out to take it - ah, it’s attached to a loop around her neck, bend down to look, rather.

 

* * *

 

**Josephine //n//e/t**

**Female**

**DOB: 06-8-17**

**P/a// /f //s////c/: //// ////// /// // ///**

**/f F//nd //e/s/ /a/l: /2 /70 ///3**

 

* * *

 

“... Jose… Jo…  _ Josephine?” _ Marisa squints at the card, takes a moment for her to pronounce the name and the child - Josephine - reddens. Embarrassed.

 

“Well, that’s… that’s an interestin’ name there, mate.” The magician shakes her head, gives the strung card back. “... kinda beat up, that lil’ thing, ain’t it?”

 

Josephine says nothing - as per what was quickly becoming  _ the usual  _ \- and simply continues forward, eyes cast towards the ground.

 

Marisa sighs, shakes her head, and pats the child on the shoulder.

 

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she says, and - despite her best efforts - the rest of the walk to the shrine passes in silence.

  
  


 


End file.
